He growled, a low rumbling from deep within his chest, one lip pulled back over a canine grown remarkably large. "Karen. We must leave. Now." he called out, the roar of the flames threatening to drown his voice out. "Come here." 

Karen obeyed immediately, snapped out of her panic by Richard's voice. It wasn't the words he chose, or the sense of urgency in it, it was the very voice itself, like the grating of bone. She stepped forward without hesitation. 

Richard tore off his overcoat and wrapped the woman in it, making sure she was completely covered. Smoke was pouring into the room, pooling on the ceiling like a thick blanket, and Richard's breath was becoming labored. "You'll be safe soon." Richard said, his mouth close to Karen's ear, his voice full of strange echoes. The last glimpse she had of him as he pulled the coat up to cover her face couldn't have been right. Her eyes must have been messed up from the smoke, because she would have sworn he had pointy teeth like a dog or cats and his eyes... 

He scooped her up in one easy motion, and let the change come upon him. A wild, barking laugh rose over the roar of the fire, and its nearness caused Karen's sweat to run cold. 

Then they were moving. Richard leapt through the fire, its flames singing his fur as he passed through the blaze. He landed not back on the floor, but on Karen's desk itself. The corner of his eye caught movement on the fire escape heading downwards, but the path to that window was blanketed in flames. There was no other way out so, letting his momentum provide added leverage, Richard's bent his legs, the fur-covered muscles in his thighs rippling. 

Turning his shoulder into it to protect Karen, the door shattered before Richard in a spray of splinters and glass. He landed in a crouch in the hallway, the stairs he came up on his right, another window leading to the fire escape on his left. They were safe, but there was someone out there who didn't wish it so.
 
 

"What the hell is going on up there!?!?" F.M. Buck shouted as he threw the screwdriver down onto his workbench. He liked working long into the night when there were no distractions. At least during the day there was constant activity both in the building and on the street, that one never really noticed it. Having half the second floor to himself helped, there were few neighbors and no one in the building worked at night except occasionally the fourth floor accountant and no one ever heard a peep from him. In the evening he could work in peace. 

"Well, not tonight," fumed F.M., at this rate he'd never get his work done for the government guy seeing him on Friday. All night long he could here someone pacing the floor upstairs, then another entered just moments before, some heavy-footed lumbering clod from the sounds of it. Before he knew it, the dame started crying. He figured it must be that cutie that worked with that detective upstairs. 

F.M. turned back to his work, trying to put it out of his mind and concentrate. Then all hell broke loose. He heard glass shatter upstairs, as well as the force of something heavy striking the floor, followed by a piercing scream.  Behind him, he thought he could hear the noise of sudden movement on the fire escape, but before he could react he realized something else. 

Wisps of smoke were starting to drift in from the ceiling above, and though he couldn't feel it or see it, he could hear the flames start to roar above. And he was sure he smelled gasoline. There was more sound from upstairs, a series of thumps and crashes, followed by a loud one, like a large weight being tossed into the hallway above. 

"Aw, crimeny." Everybody was panicking, sounded like. Didn't they ever stop to think, 'hey, maybe I should put the fire out?' He hated when amateurs played with fire. What were they doing with gasoline, anyway? 

Of course, he had a bit of gasoline in the workshop, too. Also a good supply of black powder and thermite. The combustibles were in heat resistant steel barrels, but if the fire got down to this level he might not be around long enough to clean up the mess. He shrugged into his work vest, grabbed the Army issue gas mask and fire extinguisher off their hooks, and headed for window by the fire escape. 
 
 

Munroe's nose was full of the smell of smoke, and the smell of his own burned hair. His shoulder throbbed faintly from where he had slammed into the door, and his eyes watered. Such sensations as he had never been able to feel disembodied assaulted him from this new body. It was wonderful. 

He let loose another barking laugh, then gathered Karen up again and loped down the hallway. He couldn't simply leave the woman lying there, to be killed by whomever had started this mess. So he slammed open the door way to the stairwells and lithely leapt the railing, dropping down past the winding stairs, his left arm reaching out and swinging him back on the second floor landing. 

He opened the door and entered the hallway, looking for the first doorway he could find. He opened the door on the right quietly, "Survival Mechanics Co." in green letters was written across the wooden door, and found a waiting room laid out practically the same as Lee's upstairs, but here the furniture and various accoutrements were slightly more shabby, something Richard didn't think possible in a company trying to make money. 

"Stay in here, Karen. I'm going to find whoever did this and hurt them." Richard growled, then he backed out of the doorway quickly, and loped down towards the window at the end of the hall. He smashed into it at full speed, exploding out into the night in a diamond display of broken glass, his laughter echoing through the alleyway. 

Karen looked out from under the overcoat as she lay on the floor and caught a glimpse of the figure that backed out of the room. It wore Richard's suit, partially blackened by fire, but it was torn most everywhere revealing... fur! And his voice had changed, becoming almost a growl. Bewildered, she wondered what was going on here. 

Richard landed on the fire escape, his weight causing the entire structure to creak and vibrate. Below in the alleyway he saw a brown 1932 Ford V-8 with a tan roof, the same car that sped away from the Empire club earlier that evening. One man was half in the car, another standing besides waiting his turn. At the sound from above, the man in the alley looked up. Recognition flashed in Richard's eyes at the sight, they were the same eyes that had locked with his after Lee's death. 

A low growl escaped Richard's lips, but then he turned at the sound of a curse uttered under one's breath. On the stairs leading up to the third floor was another man, just over three feet in height. A gas mask hid his features and his hands held a fire extinguisher, from his stance it was obvious he was heading up to the fire. 
 
 

Climbing out his window and onto the fire escape, F.M. turned on the landing and made his way past the hallway window towards the stairs leading up. He clambered up two stairs then stopped as he looked down to see two men getting into a brown Ford, they ignored him, probably unaware of his presence. 

Before F.M. could consider his next move, a figure crashed through the glass window of the hallway, landing with a terrific shaking of the stairs. Not believing his eyes in the light, F.M. stood shock-still. Before was a man, but not a man, more of an... animal! Fur poked out between rips in the suit, while the head itself was covered in the same brown fur. The head itself seemed to be that of a snouted animal, while the hands ended in deadly talons. The thing looked downwards, releasing a low growl. 

"Crimeny!" swore F.M. under his breath. 

At that, it turned up to regard him with glowing amber eyes. 

F.M. took a step backwards, his heart in his throat. He couldn't reach for a weapon without dropping the fire extinguisher and gas mask, and if the thing leaped up at him... There was only one thing to do. "Nice doggy," he said slowly. 
 
 

Kane drove almost by reflex through the streets of San Francisco towards the Empire Club. He had been there so many times, Stoner's place almost seemed like a second home to him at this point. As he drove, he wondered idly whether Darius' "favor" would turn into something interesting. He made a mental note to be sure and call Charlotte if, and he had a sense that it would be "when", not "if", it did. She didn't mind running the front office of Kane Investigations practically by herself, but Kane knew that she hated it when he dropped out of sight with no word or explanation about what was going on. The last time that had happened, she hadn't talked to him for the better part of a week, and he had no wish to face her cold wrath again. Kane pulled his car up to the curb in front of the Empire Club and a young valet stepped out to greet him. 

"Evening, sir!" 

"Good evening," Kane answered. He didn't recognize the boy. Kane picked up a bag out of the car. Before he had left the office, he had shoved some books in it that he thought might be useful; some Chinese dictionaries and a couple of treatises on cyphers. Walking through the massive doors of the Club's entrance, he approached the lobby valet. "Could you direct me to Mr. Stoner, please? I believe that he is expecting me." 

"Oh good evening Mr. Kane! Sorry I didn't notice you come in," he replied looking up from numerous papers, "I've been so distracted tonight, what with the murder and all." Percy was a diligent employee, but quite prone to gossip. He looked at Mr. Kane expectantly, hoping he would take the offered opening. His only response was silence. Slightly miffed, Percy added "Mr. Stoner will meet you in the Cathay Room. Its already been reserved for your meeting, so please go ahead." 

Elias mounted the stairs, taking in the Stoner family portraits as he reached the landing. He walked down the hall and opened the door to the Cathay Room, so named for the oriental flavour of the decor. The tables, chairs and such spoke of the far east with heavy lacquered stains in deep maroons and blacks. A complete set of samurai armour occupied one corner, in another a glass covered table displayed beautiful rice paper paintings of ancient China. A fine selection of oriental weaponry adorned one wall. The room was at once serene, yet whispered a quiet danger. It was appropriately an expression of the Yin and the Yang, Kane noted with humor. 

Elias took a chair and studied the maps on the wall. Much like their counterparts downstairs, these maps were dotted with initial marked pins, designating the travels of club members. But these pins, fewer in number, were linked with silk ribbon, denoting the travels of each adventurer currently away in the area. The maps themselves were much larger and afforded greater details then the ones in the dining room. One pin, larger than the rest and painted black, marked the location of where Stoner's parents were killed as they searched for the tomb of Genghis Khan. Kane shook his head at the irony of two people meeting their death in such mundane circumstances when they'd lived they lives in a most extraordinary way. 

As if on cue, Stoner entered the room. "Good evening Elias," Darius said, waving him not to get up. "I appreciate your speed in getting here. I hope I didn't disturb any plans you had for the evening?" 

"Not at all, Darius. Nothing more serious than a catnap, I assure you." Kane held his hand out and Darius took it in a firm grip. "It's is good to see you, as always. What's going on?" 

"Here's the reason why I called," Stoner held a towel wrapped bundle in his hand, spreading it out on the table before him. Taking a seat, he waved absently at the object, "Seen anything like this before?" It was a dagger, stained with crusted blood, its hilt decorated with a carved dragon clenching a wheel in its claws, while from behind a bird rose from the flames surrounding the mythical serpent. "Lee died from that."

Elias studied the blade for a moment, and then cautiously extended his hand above, as if feeling the air around the knife. Darius raised one eyebrow at this, wondering what Elias was doing. Kane's brow furrowed in concentration, then relaxed as if satisfied. Elias sat back realizing that the dagger held no specific vibrations of magic, yet did softly emanate the black aura of death. It was unsettling. He picked up the blade and turned it gingerly over in his hands. This weapon had recently taken the life of a good man, and Elias wondered idly how many others it had brought to their end.

Stoner's hand withdrew a slip of paper from his jacket offering it to Elias. "This slip of paper was with Lee when he died."

Elias looked at the cipher on the piece of paper. Chinese characters did not represent individual letters as many written languages did. Each symbol was a word, but strung together the meaning itself was meaningless. Elias smiled, recognizing the challenge such a code represented. Possibilities already sprang to mind; perhaps it was a pictographic code, written in symbology itself! This would take time... "This is most puzzling, Darius," he said as he stared at the message, "which is, I suppose, why you brought me in on this. It is not something that I am going to be able to give you a quick answer to. Do you mind if I work on it for a couple of days?" 

"Not at all Elias, I hope this isn't keeping you from anything else you've got going on?" Darius looked thoughtful for a moment, "If you need reimbursement on anything here, just send us a bill, we'll take care of it." 

"Do you have a sheet of paper that I might borrow to make a copy of this message? I am sure that you will want to keep the original for safe-keeping." 

"Certainly," nodded Darius, reaching for some from a small writing desk cubby-hole, "I appreciate your being this considerate. Come to think of it, you may want to reach this man." Stoner handed Elias some paper and a business card. "He's the one that found the fortune in Lee's hand, he's also Lee's best friend. He just left not long ago to go over to Lee's office. Something may turn up there to help you solve that riddle you're holding. Either way, he'll want to know what you find out!" 

Once Elias finished copying the characters, Darius took back the fortune and stood. "I don't mean to seem abrupt, but I do have a fair bit of business to conclude tonight, and my schedule has been shot to hell. The kitchen is still open, if you like please feel free to enjoy something in the dining room, on me of course." 

"I think that I will take you up on that offer," Elias said, still scribbling. Darius looked over his shoulder and saw that Elias was making a simple sketch of the knife that was still laying on the table. Elias looked up and, seeing the obvious question on his friend's face, said, "I thought that I would make a 'copy' of this too. Perhaps finding out something about the carvings on the hilt might give me a clue about the solution to the message. One can always hope, anyway." 

Darius smiled, if there was one thing he admired it was thoroughness. Kane raised a good point, in fact there was something naggingly familiar about the hilt, but he put it out of his mind. Let Elias do his job," he thought, "you've got your own to worry about." Already reporters were calling the Club for information on the night's events. One or two had already attempted to gain entry. Darius smiled, some of the valet's were hired first for their physique, manners were taught after. Darius shook hands with Elias and bid him a goodnight, leaving him to his work. 
 
 

Richard stared up at the little man. "Doggy?" he said, snapping his jaws around the word so hard it sounded like a whipcrack. Then he threw his head back and laughed, the wild mad barking sound spiraling out into the dark. "There's a woman in the first door on the second floor. She's frightened and needs help." Richard said, his canine grin revealing rows of teeth set in black gums. "It's doubtful someone armed with a fire extinguisher set the blaze, so you must be one of the good guys. And I have to go teach some of the bad guys the meaning of fear." And he leapt, straight down and towards the car. 

F.M. merely nodded, pleasantly surprised that the thing hadn't tried to rip out his throat. Good thing he was holding a fire extinguisher -- otherwise he might be taking that same night school course in Fear 101 as those poor saps in the Ford. 

"Speaking of fire extinguishers," he said aloud, trying to shake himself out of it. If he didn't put this one to use soon there wouldn't be a second floor for that woman to hide in. He turned and kicked in the glass that remained in the detective's window, and assessed the situation. 

Smoke and flames bit at F.M. as his feet kicked the glass away. The fire itself wasn't that bad, he realized, but it had spread fairly quickly into the front office on one side and to the hallway on the other. F.M. used the extinguisher in his hand to start isolating the flames, working left to right. He knew what he held wasn't going to do the trick, but if he could make his way to the main hall, corner the flame back into the office, then the hose in the hallway would do the rest. 

As he stepped into the room, the heat seared at his skin. If he hadn't been wearing a mask, the smoke would have already overcome him by now, even at his height. It was thick and cloying in the air, mixed with old varnish that was burning off the wooden floor. The flames themselves had worked their way up the walls, licking across the ceiling. F.M. took another step, clearing a path slowly towards the hall. As he did so, he heard the floorboards creak and groan, even more so than usual.  Would they hold? And if not, how long would they hold for? 

He worked his way across the room, concentrating now on cutting a path to the hallway. With each step, the floorboards seemed to seemed to shift, F.M. could feel the heat rising off the blackened wood. The water put out some of the flames, but not all, and he had to dance along the narrow path he was making towards the door. He'd drag the canister a few feet, stop to pump its contents out, then take another step towards the doorway. F.M. noted the extinguisher's weight was lessening, more rapidly than he would have liked! 

As it emptied out, he found he still had three feet to go the doorway, covered in a sheet of flame. Whoever had started the fire meant this to be a death-trap, F.M. realized. "Was it to be his?" he thought with a desperate lunge through the flames of the doorway. 

He landed on the other side, spread-eagled on the floor. He pulled his feet up and away from the heat at the door, seeing the flames reaching out, seeking to expand their destruction. F.M. spied the fire hose down the hallway, just as he heard timbers creak from inside the office. A quick glance inside showed him the desk was no longer sitting level on the floor but now one end was slightly higher in the air! The floorboards were starting to give way, and if the fire spread into his office, the resulting explosion might finish them all!
 
 

While in the air, Richard saw the cold-eyed oriental back away from the car, not into it. He moved like liquid further from the rear of the car, by about ten feet, and put his back to the far alley wall. Munroe landed, his taloned feet scraping the pavement and bringing up sparks, his leather shoes having burst apart during the transformation. 

Richard came up in a crouch, dead center between the man who'd mocked him with his eyes earlier and the car, now starting up its engine. The man's eyes still regarded him coldly, if he was frightened he didn't show it. The same couldn't be said based on the excited and startled shouts emanating from the car. The man stood legs akimbo, arms bent with his hands before him. Only they moved, a beckoning gesture to Richard. 

Richard's tongue hung from the side of a mouth shaped into a permanent lunatic grin; he was still panting from the heat and exertion of dealing with the fire, but his eyes were narrowed. He heard the engine cough to life behind him, and made a decision. 

"Another time, you and I will dance little human." he snarled at the oriental. Then he spun and leapt up and on top of the car, his hands curled into fists over his head. With all the strength he could muster, he slammed them down onto the windscreen of the car. 

The glass shattered inwards, spraying the occupants inside. By the shouts, Richard could tell they were surprised, but not seriously hurt as the car suddenly hit the gas and caromed in a tight turn onto the street. Richard managed to grab a handhold on the roof frame as it sped down Mission Street, away from Hill Street. 

Wu relaxed his stance as he saw the car and the beastman drive off. He scarcely believed his eyes, that animal in the shape of a human wore the same clothes as the man he had seen earlier in the night! What kind of magic was this? He fervently wished he could gain the counsel of the Master, partake of his wisdom, but knew that would be a long time coming. For now, his Master's bidding was that he assist in cleaning up the mess made possible by the clumsiness of those in this city. 

Still, the beastman had left the woman alone, surely she was still nearby. Questions as to what had leapt out of the building would wait. The task at hand was left undone. He retrieved his fallen hat and swatted it against his hand. It had been perfect, the fire would have destroyed any evidence the half-breed had discovered along with the white bitch of his. They'd watched from the fire escape as the man had arrived, it was a gift from the heavens that he should show up as well. 

Wu recalled how he had dared to look him in the eye, to meet his gaze for any longer than a second. The man had eventually bowed his stare but such impertinence deserved punishment, he decided as he started towards the fire escape. One hand reached up for the first rung... 
 
 

Kane walked back into the front foyer and asked the valet on duty to guide him to an empty room. After ordering a small supper from the kitchen, he began leafing through the Chinese dictionaries and language guides. It was odd that he understood the pictograms but not the sentence they made. He wondered idly if the message might have been written by someone with no real working knowledge of Chinese grammar and syntax. 

Struck by a sudden inspiration, Kane looked around the room for a mirror. Fortunately, there was a small one by the door. He rose from his chair and held the message up to the mirror so that he could see it reflected upside down. 

Nothing. At least the characters themselves were flawlessly drawn. Elias hoped his initial suspicion wasn't correct; that they'd just been strung together without rhyme or reason.  Looking at the characters this way did call something to his attention that he hadn't noticed before, though. Elias noticed that there were several characters that represented animals, several of which were repeated throughout the message. Elias knew that the Chinese used animals to represent dates and he turned the message around, scanning it again to see if this new revelation might shed some light on the cipher. Was the message listing a series of dates and places? 

The animals listed did represent years on the Chinese calendar, perhaps this was a number sequence after all. Now, if that line of reasoning were true, what could the numbers represent? Letters in the Chinese alphabet, or even another language altogether? Elias had the hunch he was onto something, but it would still be hours of work to figure out exactly how. 

He reached into his breast pocket and toyed with the card Darius handed him. The raised printing read "Richard Munroe", followed by a series of initials qualifying him as a lawyer, while the rest stated he was a District Attorney at San Francisco's City Hall. 

A valet knocked on the private room off the main dining hall, bearing a bowl of steaming mussels and a thick loaf of bread, sourdough from the smell of it decided Elias. Elias carefully folded the drawing and the copy of the cryptogram and put it in his vest pocket and then he turned his attention to the dinner that had been placed on the table before him. The food was excellent as always and it seemed to energize his mind. 

Something... some little voice in the back of Elias' head that had been right so many times in his life... told him that things were about to get interesting. 
 
 

"Crimeny!" he thought, looking back at the desk that was sinking through the floor. "My workshop's about to get a cathedral ceiling!" He ran for the hose and yanked out a length of it. Then he twisted the spigot and ran back to the office, dragging the increasingly stiff hose after him. At the door he twisted the nozzle to wide-open and let 'er rip. 

F.M. struggled with the hose as it burst forth a heavy stream of water. Fortunately, his strength was greater than most men twice his size, but still he felt it slowly pushing him backwards. The flames in the doorway dissipated as the water hit, steam rising from the wood. F.M. got a foot inside, bracing his leg against the door jamb to steady himself. Water sprayed back on his arms, running down to mix with blood from his hands. Shards of broken glass and a shattered door frame was all that remained of the front door. 

"Someone got out of here in a hurry!" he thought, as he made another step into the office. Spraying down the walls, the flames started to come under control. He liberally doused the floor with water when he saw the desk ease downward on the right side by another couple of inches, accompanied by the sound of the wood floor breaking further. 

F.M. got the last of the flame, sputtering for existence, out and turned off the water. Catching his breath, he heard sirens in the distance, at least someone had managed to call the fire department. His arms ached from the exertion and the hose felt like a dead weight in his hands. 
 
 

The car tore off into the street, with Richard on top! "Well, this isn't quite what I expected," he thought as his talons punctured the metal of the cars roof in an effort to keep him from sliding off. He laughed again, then brought one arm back and up, fist balled, and punched down through the roof. He flailed about a bit, hoping to get a hold of one of the passengers. 

Richard looked to the street as he struggled to grab hold of something. There were a few onlookers on the sidewalk, attracted by various shouts of fire from around the office building, as well as some people craning their heads out their windows. They all watched slack jawed as the car drove past, though whether it was for the shape he wore or just because a man was hanging onto the roof of a car, Richard couldn't guess. 

The car swerved to and fro on the road and, despite being nearly flung from the roof, his talons finally snagged on some fabric. He yanked upwards hard, causing a small dome to be raised on the roof, and he could feel the man's weight go limp in his hands. 

The heady rush of satisfaction swirled through him, nearly causing him to lose his grip. His eyes glazed over for just a moment as he rode the emotion, and then it was gone, leaving him almost trembling in it's wake. It was like this, now. His emotions were his master when he rode this part of himself, and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. He hoped that the little man had found Karen by now. 

Suddenly the car jerked to the right. Richard looked up realizing the car was headed straight towards a brick wall! There was very little time to do much of anything, so great was the cars speed. So, he did the first thing that came to mind. He simply let go and rolled to the side. With any luck, he'd at least not get caught in the direct crash. 

Richard saw the concrete rushing to meet him, and landed on his side with a thud. His roll continued to bring up on his hind legs, unharmed with the exception of a dull throbbing in his left shoulder. 

The car and its occupants weren't so lucky. The rear wheels came up in a small arc at the impact then landed again, causing the rear axle to break. The man on the passenger side had come through the open front window, nothing being there to stop his progress. It ended as quickly as it had started against the brick wall, a blood smear brightening the brick. Richard came to his feet, sniffing the air. The driver, unconscious, had simply smashed his head into the steering wheel. It hung at an angle that suggested his neck had been broken. 

The transmogrified lawyer approached the car, where he then pulled the driver out from behind the wheel. He was startled to discover the man was one of the two that had left his courtroom just the other day, acquitted of charges that couldn't stick due to a lack of witnesses. He glanced at the other body laying across the hood of the car. The face was twisted back, but it looked unfamiliar despite a goodly portion of it having been crushed against the brick wall. A quick search of the mans pockets turned up some change, a wallet and nothing more. Richard dropped the body back into the vehicle. 

Another few feet to the side Richard had landed on and they would have all made it safely down another alley. Richard looked up the street to see they hadn't traveled all that far. It was only a block and a half from the corner of Hill and Mission where Lee's office building stood. He could see the smoke darkened walls of it on the other side. He also saw quite a few people running towards the car to offer what aid they could, or just to gape at the human tragedy. And for the second time tonight, Richard heard sirens approaching. 

He laughed at the crowd, then gathered himself and leapt. He struck the side of the building closest him about halfway up, his talons scrabbling for purchase on the brick and mortar. The crowd stopped short, almost leaning backward as if struck by a heavy wind. Their frightened gasps were almost delicious to Richard's ears. A few brave souls continued on to the car, while still others backed out onto the street in a vain attempt to see where the creature before them had gone. The rest merely stood and looked into each other's eyes, daring someone to be the first to admit what they'd seen. 

Amidst a shower of stone chips, he eventually managed to reach the roof, whereupon he loped off back towards Lee's office. The ache in his shoulder was fading, and he felt more alive at that moment then he had in either millennia, or twenty some years... depending upon your point of view. 
 
 

As he was chewing a mouthful of mussels, Elias suddenly remembered the "trick" that Deb had taught him, how to use an object that someone had held and sense something about where they were and what was happening to them. She had also taught him that such a spell was incredibly risky, but Elias couldn't imagine anything in the Club that would try to cause him harm, still he saw no reason to risk it. With this in mind, Elias put down his spoon and locked the door to the room he had been loaned. He knew that Percy (as well as Darius) would have a key to that door, but Percy was an old acquaintance. 

Elias took off his jacket and draped it over a nearby chair. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, loosened the neck,  and looked at the dark blue tattoo that covered most of his left forearm. In ideal circumstances, he would perform this operation with more of eye for protection but, again, he didn't really expect there to be much to the seeking that he was about to do. Still, the fingers of his right hand traced the patterns on his left forearm and he inwardly intoned some ancient names, just to chase off anything spectral that might be lurking nearby. 

Elias picked up Munroe's business card and, sitting cross-legged on the ground, he placed the card in front of him. For a full five minutes Elias sat with his eyes closed, trying to center himself. He could hear Deb's voice encouraging him to breathe... to float... to relax... and then, quite suddenly, he felt the shocking disassociation with his body that indicated his readiness to continue. If he had wanted, he could have launched himself then and there away from his body, and the urge to loose his Spirit was powerful and only barely resisted. 

Instead, Elias reached out and grasped the business card. In his hand it vibrated like a living thing, the aura and presence of Richard Munroe permeating it, the aura of Darius Stoner, who had possessed the card for a shorter period of time, like a spice in a fine wine. Elias reached for the first sensation, for the aura of Munroe, which seemed vaguely strange somehow, and opened his eyes. 

It seemed to Elias that he was in two places at once.... there and not there, mind and Spirit..... and this latter he sent outwards, rocketing towards the source of Munroe's aura. Yet, something else was there, sharing the same space as Richard Munroe. Elias had to concentrate even harder, find the thread of his soul, follow its weave through the tapestry of reality. 

His spirit soared, colors radiating around him. Suddenly, as if a bird bursting through the clouds, he could make out a street below, slowly ascending in a lazy circle. Elias recognized it as Mission Street, close to the water. he swooped about a building, its top two floors at the front stained by soot and smoke, wisps of which still escaped into the chill, damp night. 

His spirit hung in the air, "But why?" wondered Elias. He should be approaching Munroe, hovering just over him. Kane soon saw why. On the other side of the street, an animal in human form came loping across the rooftops towards him. Further down the street, he saw a car crashed into a building, a group of onlookers gathered about it. He turned his attention back to the beast. It wore a man's suit, though it was torn and ripped where the creature's muscle and fur shown through. 

Sweat beaded on the forehead of Elias' motionless form back at the Empire Club. He flung his will back along the thread, seeking Munroe, to find him... in the body of the beast?!? 

As he stared down at the creature, he realized it was looking back at him. Maybe not seeing him directly, but feeling his presence. It snarled at the unseen threat, unsure of where it came from. Then, suddenly, something reached out of this man-beast, rending with the very fabric Elias had woven. As his spirit sped back towards the human host, he caught a glimmer of what he'd felt with his mind's eye. Claws. 

Elias' body went rigid with the abrupt re-entry, the almost fell forward onto the floor. A headache began to pound behind his eyes, never had something had the power to not only see him, but send him back during a projection! Kane fought back the flood of questions that rose into his mind, knowing he would find the answers somewhere on Mission Street. 
 
 

At the sound of the sirens, Wu looked away from the third floor window he'd been peering through and back up the alley. He swore, knowing he was close. But the master had taught him the one important key to success was patience. He regarded the woman through the glass, and decided it would be best to let her live in fear for at least one more day. 

Soundlessly, he somersaulted off the fire escape and landed running into the night. 
 
 

As he ran across the rooftops, Richard became aware of another presence, it was almost as if someone was looking over his shoulder. He sniffed at the air, there was nothing, and yet... he felt compelled to stare into the night sky in front and just above him. Richard felt the spirit suddenly rise within him, radiating a heat that reminded him of the savannah. It rushed out and as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Richard shook his head and continued his run. He hadn't changed in a while, that could explain the odd sensation. And yet... he couldn't shake that it was something more. 

He came to the edge of the building across the street from Lee's, seeing a fire engine rushing up Hill Street. He clambered hand over hand down a fire escape, then darted across the street back into the safety of the alley where his crazy ride had started. He grabbed the rung of the first floor ladder and swung himself up onto the second landing. 
 
 

F.M. dropped the hose, pulled off the stifling gas mask, and looked at its saucer-eyed, leather-snouted face. There was something he was supposed to do next... that's right: the werewolf told him to help out a frightened woman on the second floor. 

The werewolf--! 

He couldn't wait to tell Sal about this one. He hustled out into the hallway, and had the oddest feeling that something had just been there, then to the stairs and clumped down them. At the
first door on the right he stopped and knocked politely. "Oh, miss?" 

"I'm down here!" he heard a female cry out from down the hall, in fact, from behind his own office door! F.M. hurried down to his door, and found it open. Before him stood the secretary from upstairs, the detective's secretary, leaning against the unused front office desk. At her feet was a soot darkened overcoat. 

From the look of her, she'd been upstairs when the fire had started. Her clothing was in a disarray and her red hair hung partially loose of the tight bun she'd worn. F.M. also noticed she was a lot prettier than he'd remembered. 

He also realized she was staring at him, staring at her. "Careful mister," she said, "Yer eyes are startin ta bruise me. I've seen you in the building before, this your office?" she looked around her, then back to F.M. "Some guy named Richard Munroe dropped me off here a few minutes ago, I don't suppose he was waitin in the hallway with ya?" 

"In the hallway?" he repeated stupidly. Beautiful women could frazzle him like a hundred volts through a cheap radio, and he was especially impressed by a dame that could come through a fire looking this good. "Didn't see him, Miss. Not unless he was a tall guy who really needed a shave." 
 
 

The smell of charred wood exuding from the building was almost physical, filling his nostrils to the point of almost making him gag. As he climbed back through the window and into the hallway, he sneezed. The door he had shoved Karen through was halfway down the hall, and as he loped towards it, he pulled the primal back into himself. It wouldn't do to have Lee's secretary shoot at him after going to all this trouble. And besides, if anything should raise it's head, like a certain killer dressed in black, he could always summon it back again. 

"Karen?" he called out, poking his head around the doorway. "Are you still here?" he sneezed again. 

Yes, he was wearing torn and ragged clothing. Yes, he had no shoes. But he'd think of something. He was, after all, paid to convince people of things, wasn't he? As he looked into the doorway, he realized he'd better think of it quick. Karen stood leaning against a desk, talking to the midget fire fighter he'd seen on the fire escape. As he sneezed, both of their heads turned towards him. 
 
 

Elias' hands clutched at his shirt. So vivid had been his impression of the beast that Kane's first instinct was to look at his chest for the claw marks that he felt must be there, but his shirt was untorn. What sort of creature was Richard Munroe? Darius had spoken highly of the man, but it was more than obvious that there was more to the lawyer than met the eye. Kane hoped that Munroe himself wasn't really responsible for Hoffman's murder, but with supernatural
creatures, one could never be too careful. 

There was a knocking on the door behind him that broke Kane from his thoughts. "Sir? Mr. Kane, are you all right?" Percy's voice came from the other side of the door. Kane got up off the floor and rolled down and buttoned his sleeves before opening the door. Percy looked concerned and Kane rubbed at his eyes, feigning sleep. "Mr. Kane? We heard a cry, sir." 

"I'm sorry, Percy," Kane said, pretending to yawn. "I was working with some old books here and I must have fallen asleep at the table and started dreaming. Sorry to have alarmed you." 

Percy smiled broadly. "It's no trouble, sir. I was just worried that something might have happened to you." 

"No, I am quite all right. But you could do me a favor, if you would." Percy nodded in reply. "Have my car brought around, please. I just remembered... something that I need to look into immediately." Elias Kane packed up his books quickly. 

Mission Street was going to supply him with some answers. 
 
 

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